


To Be Where I Have Been

by ghostl0rd



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Male Character, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Parenthood, Romantic Friendship, Slice of Life, art gallery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostl0rd/pseuds/ghostl0rd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just two dads, navigating the perils of parenthood. </p><p>Sazh/Regis fic. Set 10 years before the events of TCaSbtB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Captain - Sazh

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short mini fic for Regis and Sazh because I love them.  
> POV will switch back and forth between dads/chapters.  
> I am partially mad at myself for not having written anything for Sazh since he's my favorite character from XIII wtf. 
> 
> Since this fic is 10 years earlier, ages: 
> 
> Sazh and Regis are in their late 30s, early 40s.  
> Dajh is 4 going on 5  
> Noctis is 14 going on 15 
> 
> Enjoy!

The Opus Art Gallery, located adjacent to the Vetus Regia square, originally started out as an office complex for the Lucii magistrates in the fifteenth century. It had an internal courtyard sitting narrow between its two wings that opened out to the Insomnia waterfront: a strategic entry point guaranteed to lure visitors who were keen to escape the summer heat. Presently the courtyard was shadowed and empty save for the occasional jogger coming to the last leg of their run, though that had more to do with the earliness of the hour. As the sun rose higher over Insomnia, visitors to Opus would begin flowing through its opening archways in droves.  Some more eager than others as tickets always sold out quickly during the peak summer season, and the courtyard would suddenly become a bustling little hub; rife with photography and lively chatter. 

Usually the curator—affectionately nicknamed The Captain—had  _Nessun Dorma_ from the  _Turandot_ playing on the vinyl while they waited for the clock to hit  _9AM._ Today, however, marked a departure in that tradition: the opening notes in the overture that greeted Sazh as he stepped inside the Captain’s office were from one of his favourite rock epics.  Sazh ignored the empty glass she'd set aside for him and joined her at the windows.

“Mid-life crisis finally caught up to you huh Hilde,” Sazh teased.

“Shove it up your ass,” the Captain grunted, sniffing delicately at the whiskey in her hand.  Everyone who knew Hilde knew the woman’s disdain for rock music was only rivalled by the love she had for the ’66 T-Series Bentley she drove to work. She had no children of her own but ‘Bernie’ the Bentley was the closest thing to a substitute—if she actually liked children, that is.  She claimed Dajh was the exception, but Sazh suspected it was because Dajh possessed the innate instinct to sense when the Captain would come storming through the corridors to reprimand an intern within an inch of their life and pre-emptively steer clear.

Hilde tossed back the whiskey and Sazh shuddered involuntarily, feeling a phantom burn down his throat.  She claimed the Dalmore had been distilled twice, but Sazh was never going to forget the temporary loss in vision he'd experienced the first time he'd tried it. 

“The Opus is going to be moving in a different direction under your helm, so consider my momentary lapse in judgement a rite of passage.” Hilde set her empty glass onto the tray with the decanter as she said it. 

“Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir’s not a bad place to start.  We’re going to miss you, Cap.” Sazh said. 

“And yet, when I walked into the office this morning I saw a suspicious rectangular space in the wall where my  _Portrait of Madame Etro_ used to hang.” Hilde said, giving him a sideways glance.   

“Well, we all know how much you love that piece,” Sazh replied with a grin.  “Besides, Dajh is going to be spending a lot of his time in this office from now on. Might send the wrong message.”

“An art gallery filled with naked sculptures and paintings and you’re worried a  _woman in a dress_  is going to send him the wrong message?”

“So what you’re saying is. . . I need to go back downstairs, and tell Wedge to  _not_ wrap Madame Etro to go,” Sazh said.

The Captain sniffed, and Sazh was almost tempted to think she was teary-eyed. Both their watches beeped in unison then, Hilde sighing. Sazh shook her hand after she offered it, hiding a wince.  Eighty-five, and old Hilde’s grip remained as vice-like as the hold she had on life. 

“Think of all of us while you’re sipping margaritas,” Sazh said. 

“I won’t.  Have you considered their offer?”

At this Sazh hesitated.  “ _Well_ ,”

“ _Sazh_.” Hilde scolded.

“They were very generous—too generous; actually kind of worrying.  But in the end. . . eh. . .”

“Still no?”  

“Sorry Hilde.  I know you mean well.”

“That money could have set you and Dajh up for life.”

“I know.” Sazh brought her in for a hug.  “But I’ve never been good at sitting on my hands.  I need to keep busy.” If he stopped working, he started _thinking_ , and if he started thinking he would start _remembering._

_And if I started remembering—_

“No one says you have to _stop_ working,” Hilde pointed out.

“True, but there’d be no point in showing up to work anymore.  It’d be like you leaving _without_ Mme Etro.”

“And they call  _me_ stubborn.” Hilde muttered.  “I won’t be able to keep them from coming straight to you after I leave.”

“You’ve done enough, honestly.” 

“If that were true then I wouldn’t be worried.”

Sazh watched the old lady dig around in her pockets, pulling out her car keys and a business card. She forced the keys into his palm, closing his fingers over it. Sazh started to protest, but fell silent when she glared at him. 

“Bernie was given to me when I first started here, and now I’m bequeathing her to you.” She held up the business card next, glaring his protests into silence while she tucked it into his breast pocket.  “She runs like a dream, and if you want her to  _keep_  running like a dream, then Sig’s your girl.  Her rates are always fair, her advice sound.”

“Sig. Got it."

“And finally,” said Hilde, looking at him severely.  “I know Bernie’s no  _F-35_ or whatever contraption you were bombing Lucii soldiers with before—” Sazh coughed— “but she’ll get you where you need to go.  Especially with Dajh starting kindergarten soon.  Public transport is well and good, but there’s gonna be times you’ll need to shoot off without a moment’s notice and those fifteen minutes you spend waiting for the tram or bus are forever to a child."

"Yes ma'am."

"Alright, what else. . .” Hilde hummed, hands planted on her hips.  “You find a replacement sitter yet?”

Sazh scratched his beard sheepishly.  “Still working on it.”

“Work harder,” she grumbled. She started for the door, but paused, letting out a sigh.  "Look. One of my nephews is looking for extra work over his semester break—really responsible kid; can't believe we're actually related.  I'll get him to give you a bell.  You two can work out the details."

No point in arguing. "Thanks Cap. Appreciate it."

She stepped outside, Sazh following. 

“I can give you a lift if you want,” Sazh offered.

“No, you’ve got bigger things to worry about.” Hilde pointed to the empty seat where Dajh usually sat— _should_  have been sitting with his crayons. 

Sazh raked his fingers through his hair exasperatedly.  “Not again.”

Hilde checked her wristwatch.  

“Five minutes before the doors open.  Better hurry.  _Captain,_ ” she added, pointing down the corridor with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I don't know if I wanna go Knights Tale with the 'anachronism', but then I remember Gladiolus collects Coleman™ camping gear (lol dork) and then I'm like nah stuff it, Led Zeppelin exists in this world as does Luciano Pavarotti. 
> 
> The song Hilde's listening to is the London Philharmonic's Cover of Led Zeppelin's Kashmir. Really recommend it. I would link if I could find a link, but defs recommend it. 
> 
> Pavarotti's Nessun Dorma is still a classic. 
> 
> I hope people caught the Norse references :3


	2. The Death of Etro - Regis

“ _Stop_ ,” Aulea laughed, elbowing Regis hard in the stomach to deter him from kissing her neck. “You said you were going to behave.”

“Time for a studybreak.” Regis grumbled stubbornly against her skin, fingers teasing the straps of her sundress.  He wheeled her chair around and tried to kiss her, but his lips met the hardcover of her textbook instead. Regis let out a groan. 

She giggled, blue eyes sparkling with amusement.  “I have to study.  That’s the only reason I came over, remember?”

“And you _have_ been studying.  For _hours_.  You’ve memorised that book backwards _and_ upside-down,” Regis pointed out.

“So?” She opened her textbook and started reading again.

Regis warped back into his seat across from her at the long study table and put his feet up on the desk.  He was determined to sulk for the remainder of the night until she giggled, closing her book again.

“Alright, tell you what: if you answer this correctly I’ll give you one kiss.”

“ _Just_ one?” Regis hid his excitement behind a mask of indifference.  “Hardly seems worth my while.”

“So confident,” she remarked.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Regis glared determinedly at her. “Fine, bring it.  _Nerd_.” He added slyly, enjoying the resulting flash of annoyance across her face.

“Alright, let’s see if you’ve been paying attention.”

She closed the book and stood, holding it protectively to her chest, as if the act would lessen his chances of getting the right answer.

“The day you snuck into my Art History lecture there was a painting on the slide.” She said. “Name three things you know about it.”

Regis feigned concentration for a moment and then let out a sigh. He stood and slowly walked toward her, a smile spreading across his lips as she backed towards the wall.  He planted his hands on the sides of her head and leaned in close.

“Should’ve chosen a harder question,” he whispered.  The textbook landed heavily on the carpet with a thud, her arms moving to wrap around his neck.

“Three things,” she whispered back. “Go.”

“ _Death of Etro_. Oil on canvas by Willahelm.  Early fifteenth century.”

Regis kissed her then, using his body to press her up against the wall.  He tried for a second but was met with resistance—she put her hand on his chest and pushed him firmly back.  She smirked. 

“Describe it.”

Regis was too happy to oblige.  He leaned in again.  “The inspiration for the painting came to Willahelm in a dream.” He whispered against her lips.  “She said she saw humans springing to life from Etro’s blood spilling on to the earth.   The addition of Bhunivelze to the painting later on came to her in a second dream, months later.  How’s that for a description?”

“What else?” She whispered.

“Hey! What the hell! Let go of me!” A voice shouted, bringing Regis back to life.  He looked up from the bench where he was sitting and over his shoulder where Clarus barred a man from entering the display room.

“You can’t be in here—”

“No, _you_ can’t be in here,” said the man, shrugging off Clarus’ grasp, craning his neck. “Dajh!”

Dajh?

Regis glanced about the room in confusion and when he saw no one else he chanced a look under the bench.  A little boy glanced up from where he’d been doodling in a scrapbook, brown eyes wide and cheerful.  He had to be at least four or five years old.

“Hi,” the boy chirped.

“Erm. Hello, very nice to meet you.” Regis offered awkwardly before realizing how ridiculous it was that he was being nervous in front of a child.  He cleared his throat. “Are you Dajh?”

The boy nodded and went back to drawing, humming as he went. Regis was a little taken aback when he recognized the tune— _My Way_ wasn’t usually a song you’d expect to come out of a kid Dajh’s age. 

“Sir I’m going to need to see some ID— ”

“I _work_ here.  Some of your guys have seen me around. The Captain didn’t tell you about me?”

“ID,” repeated Clarus firmly.  “ _Now_.”

“Fine, look: driver’s licence.” Clarus caught the tiny plastic card before it could hit his face. The man looked over Clarus’ shoulder, voice softening. “Dajh buddy, it’s almost working time.”

“Almost finished!” Dajh called.

“Alright, well.” Dajh’s father cleared his throat.  “Dad’s going to be _right_ here with this _super_ friendly—erm.  What’s your name dude?”

“Wilson, Reno.” Clarus droned into his cell phone, managing to glare at the man and peruse his license at the same time. “29 Bonsai Place. Laxus Hill. You get a match?”

If Regis had cared to pay attention, he would have registered that conversation.  Instead he was staring, transfixed with Dajh’s drawing.  Sure the colors were a lot more vibrant, but stroke by stroke the kid had created a stunning replica of _The Death of Etro,_ hanging on the wall just a few feet in front of him. 

“That’s a really pretty picture,” Regis told him.  Dajh shrugged. He added a few more splashes of color to one corner and then packed his crayons into a Pokeball-shaped backpack. Next he tore out the page he’d been working on before putting the scrapbook away, finally crawling out from under the bench.

“Dajh, buddy, time to go.”

“Here,” said Dajh, holding out his drawing to Regis. Regis blinked.

“Um.” Regis eyes darted over to Dajh’s father who Clarus had finally allowed through, but was now hovering nervously in the entryway.

He cleared his throat, looking mortified. “Um. It’s a thing he does; giving away drawings.  Could you uh—”

“Thank you,” Regis told Dajh, accepting the gift. 

Dajh flashed him a smile and hurried over to his father who scooped him into his arms.  He hurried out of the room in the next instant, like he couldn’t get away fast enough.  Regis heard echoes of him scolding Dajh carrying down the corridor. He stood and turned his gaze toward the painting for one last look.  He passed Dajh’s drawing to Clarus when the latter finally got off his phone.

“Skirmish at the border with Nova Chrysalia," said Clarus.  "Aldercapt's called a press conference to pledge his support to the region." He looked over the drawing.  "Don't kids his age usually just fingerpaint?  Or eat glue?"  

"Talented, isn't he." Regis carefully folded the picture, tucking it into his coat pocket. “Now, forget about Nova Chrysalia for a moment.  If you recall, today’s The Captain’s last day.”

“Just saw her being driven out by another staff member,” confirmed Clarus.  He crossed his arms.   “You think it’ll be easier to get your hands on the painting now?”

“Of course,” Regis said confidently.  “With that stubborn fart out of the picture, I can bribe the new Captain into telling us who the ‘anonymous’ owner is so I can finally haggle them into submission.  Everyone has a price, Clarus.”

“Awkward,” Clarus muttered, looking uncomfortable.

“What?”

“You know that guy we just met—Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“ _He’s_ the new Captain.” Clarus said with a grimace. Regis took a long moment to process that.  “Sorry,” Clarus added, squeezing Regis' shoulder. “Might have ruined your chances earlier.  Also. . . ”

Regis stared at him.  “There’s _more_?”

“Wilson’s late wife was Willahelm’s descendant.  She left the painting to him in a will, so he’s both owner  _and_ Captain.”

Regis dropped back on the bench in defeat.  

“I did tell you I wasn’t a people person,” Clarus shrugged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ['Death of Etro' painting here](http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/finalfantasy/images/1/13/LRFFXIII_Etro_Mural1.png)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Reno Wilson is Sazh's voice actor.


End file.
